


Snowflakes

by JadedTimberwolf



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Genji being broody, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 12:23:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12581840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JadedTimberwolf/pseuds/JadedTimberwolf
Summary: Genji continues to wrestle with what he is. Zenyatta offers advice.A very short prequel/deleted scene from Prime Directive, but can still be read standalone.





	Snowflakes

A memory.

The sight of the Himalayan glaciers against the pale glow of the moon was relaxing; a feeling that he was very much craving at the moment. Genji had been thankful to find out that the balcony of his small dormitory provided him with one of the better views in the village, allowing him a quiet place to sit and clear his mind whenever blackened memories came to plague his dreams. Zenyatta was beside him that evening in particular, having joined him after a late night stroll. The monk was deep in meditation, the mala swirling around his shoulders chiming softly and giving off a faint, golden light. The Omnic’s presence at his side was a much-needed distraction from his own thoughts that evening.

He trailed two of his organic fingers along the metal plating of his prosthetic arm, flexed his artificial wrist, and grew frustrated at how the movement still felt clunky and foreign. The multiple hours of physical therapy and training had done nothing to ease the persistent phantom aches that entangled most of his limbs. He longed for his old body -- the body that had been so cruelly taken from him.

He curled his metal fingers, watching them awkwardly twist into half a fist, and sighed, breaking the tranquil silence.

“Master, may I ask your opinion on something?” He asked, avoiding eye contact by staring bleakly ahead. In his peripheral vision, he saw Zenyatta rise out of his meditation and tilt his head at him quizzically.

“What is it, my student?” he asked. Judging by his pleasant tone, the monk had been expecting him to say something sooner or later.

“Do you... believe in fate?”

Zenyatta brought a hand up to his chin as he mused, his mala speeding up in their rotations for a moment.

“Fate? What exactly do you mean?”

“You know. If no matter what you do in life, you are still going to end up in the exact same place, and if that place turns out to be a miserable one, there’s nothing you can do to fix it. That kind of fate.”

There was a pause as Zenyatta gave a low hum of thought, the mala beginning to gently chime around his shoulders again. His apprentice was left waiting, anxious for an answer, for any small form of guidance.

“I like to think that our destinies are not preordained,” the monk replied after a moment. “Why do you ask?”

“I’ve just...been thinking,” the cyborg began. He spoke slowly, almost shyly, being cautious with his words. “I mean...of all the missions Overwatch conducted, of all the places in the world, and of all the people they could have found and chosen to pull out of the rubble… why me? Why did the universe refuse to let me die like all the others? Why was I even given this…this...”

He watched as his two hands formed fists, the sentence halting in his throat. He couldn’t decide whether to call his new state of being a blessing or a curse.

“If fate doesn’t exist, then why am I still here?” he finished. The question tasted bitter on his tongue.

Silence embraced the both of them again for a moment, the chimes of the mala coming to an abrupt halt. The cyborg’s gaze again fell down to his two hands, intensely studying the stark contrast of flesh and metal.  
  
It was suddenly then that Zenyatta chuckled, his golden mala dancing along with the pleasant sound as they twirled around him. The Omnic’s companion shot him a look.

“What’s so funny? Are you mocking me?”

“Not at all, my student. It is merely the fact that you seem to have asked me the wrong kind of question.”

The cyborg watched in silence as Zenyatta extended a metal hand outward, as if waiting for something expectantly. After a moment, almost as if on cue, a single snowflake drifted downward and landed in the center of his open palm. The monk twirled the snowflake amongst his fingers playfully for a few seconds, then he allowed the wind to sweep it away again, observing how it flowed to join the rest of the arriving snowfall.

“You asked me if I believe that we are unable to alter our future,” Zenyatta began, settling his hands back into their usual prayer-like position. “You did not, however, ask me if I believe that the universe orchestrates all things for a reason.”

“Well? Does it?” his student pressed. He found himself growing restless. Zenyatta laughed softly again. Despite his emotionless faceplate, a warm smile was still evident, riding along with the gentle waves of his synthetic voice.

“Of course. Just as a snowflake can perchance fall into a open hand instead of upon the ground, you were given a second chance at life against all opposing odds. I find it doubtful that the universe would arrange such a fortuitous thing if there was no reasoning behind it.”

“But my service with Blackwatch has ended. What if my usefulness intended by this second chance has already been exhausted?” The cyborg interjected. He felt the familiar anxiousness swelling in the pit of his chest all over again; a feeling he oh so wished to forget.

Zenyatta turned slightly to look at him, another smile apparent in his body language rather than with his faceplate.

“As I said earlier, my student: our destinies are not preordained. There is nothing here stopping you from going out and finding a new purpose in this world, if that is truly what you feel you must do,” Zenyatta replied easily. Then he paused, returning his attention to the growing number of snowflakes in the air about the two of them, noted how they seemed to dance amongst each other in the sway of the gentle breeze.

“The future will always bring with it many unexpected changes. You can never predict when or where opportunities will present themselves. You only need recognize them when they do.”

The cyborg remained silent as he contemplated the new perspective, the weight of his master’s words slowly sinking in.

“I...think I am beginning to understand,” he spoke after a moment. Just like that, it felt as though an a small fraction of an oppressive force detached itself from him. It was not much, a mere pebble chipped off of an impossibly large boulder, but it made the overall pressure weighing down on his mind a bit easier to bear. “Thank you, Master.”

“You are most welcome, my student.”

Silence began to settle between them again, but this time it was a much more comfortable form of quietness, the pair having reached a mutual understanding that the conversation at hand had come to a conclusion. Zenyatta’s mala continued to chime in tune as the monk slowly slipped back into his meditation. His humbled student followed not long after, taking in a relaxing breath as the incessant jumble plaguing his mind that evening finally began to clear.

 


End file.
